


The Sun Doesn't Shine Forever

by ALC_Punk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Minor Character Death, Sherlock Holmes is a Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 20:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16332749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: Molly had no inkling that the day was going from bad to worse. A ridiculous response to a post on tumblr about Sherlock plotting the murder of Molly's fiance.





	The Sun Doesn't Shine Forever

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this, [due to this post on tumblr](http://gcintia.tumblr.com/post/179158932573/juldooz-mychakk-incorrectsherlollyquotes). Also, it's been a long time since I killed off extraneous fiances.
> 
> I would like to note that I don't dislike Tom. I don't know that I like him, as he's just sort of... there. It's not his fault he's not even a tertiary character (and I do appreciate him on Molly's behalf, because she'd had a long dry spell after Jim). But the idea that Sherlock plotted his demise (and my ridiculous justifications in the last section), really wouldn't leave me alone. 
> 
> This is attempting to be humor, but I'm not sure it's managed it. 
> 
> Title is a Duran Duran track from Pop Trash.
> 
> Also, this is not tagged for jealousy as it's... really not. I'm not sure I could pull that off, anyway.

One day, just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body, and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there." - Sally Donovan, _A Study in Pink_

"Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues." - Sherlock Holmes, _Sign of Three_

* * *

The first inkling Molly had that something was wrong was a text, from Mary. 

_On our way over, love. Hang in there. xx Mary_

She read the text twice over, trying to understand the meaning behind it, then shrugged. It had been a long day of paperwork and arguments with two of the interns over the correct procedures involved with the chain of evidence St. Bart's needed for its work with the Met. Both of them thought it was over-redundant and that they should reduce the amount of signatures. Molly had finally told them their opinions didn't matter as the Met set the policy for all evidence processing. 

Which was true, but she was tired of defending it, knowing that redundancy had been the reason Sherlock had been exonerated more than once. Not to mention that lack of redundancy on his court case had been the reason Moriarty had got free--he may also have had blackmail on his side, but Molly knew at least one clerk who'd admitted there'd been some buying off and paperwork loss. 

Now she was home, she simply wanted to put her feet up, eat something ordered in and pretend that the world didn't exist. 

With a sigh, she sent a response to Mary. 

_?? OK._

Mary didn't reply, but Molly didn't expect her to. The initial text had just been a courtesy; obviously, whatever this was, required a face to face meeting. 

Scrunching her face, she dropped onto the sofa and leaned her head back. Ugh. Probably not long until she'd have to get back up to open the door. And why did she had to be sociable? Molly let herself fall sideways, and hrmphed. One day, she'd look back on actions like this and find them the beginning of the end for her mad old cat lady routine. 

Then again, she had Tom. So that was far in her future--while statistics proved that women lived longer, she hoped she'd manage to find one who'd stick around long enough for the dementia to make him forgettable when he died. 

The doorbell rang interrupting her exhausted and morbid thoughts, and Molly dragged herself off the cushion-covered surface of her far too comfortable sofa. 

"Molly?" Mary was calling through the door, even before she managed to reach it. 

"I'm here." Schooling her face into something less grumpy--after all, friends were something one should be polite and nice, too. 

Unless it was the end of the night and they were trying to stick you with the tab. She unlocked the door and stepped back, gesturing. "Hey Mary, John."

"Oh, god, Molly," sweeping in, Mary caught her in a tight hug. "We've just heard. Came right over."

"Yeah."

Molly awkwardly patted Mary's back, looking at John in confusion. "Heard? Heard what?"

"Shit." John swore, quickly closing the door and reaching out to move them back into the sitting room. "You haven't heard yet."

The day was not getting better. Molly seriously considered turning them back out of her flat. Then Mary pulled her down onto the sofa with her, and she gave in. "Just tell me."

Mary exchanged a glance with John, and then looked at Molly. "It's Tom. He was killed this afternoon."

The words didn't make sense. Molly tried to make them fit into reality, and found that she couldn't. It was the moment before impact. If she could hold it off for long enough, the pavement wouldn't ever be there for her to land on. She drew breath. "How?"

"Hit by a bus." John was obviously fighting something. Possibly the utter absurdity in that phrase. 

A bus. "A fucking _bus_?" Molly realized she'd snapped that out loud. Her chest ached, and her hands--she didn't want to think about her hands, and how her fingers were snarled together. She could feel the press of her engagement ring, digging in (as it always did). "You're joking."

Please please please--

"No. I'm sorry, Molly."

A sob huffed out of her, an ugly sound. "Oh god."

Then she was in Mary's arms again, face buried in her scratchy jumper, all of her shaking with the force of emotion breaking through her. 

* * *

In a darkened flat (because Sherlock appreciated the dramatic lighting action, even if it was a cliche), Sherlock Holmes perched in his chair, hands folded as if in prayer, and stared across John's chair and into the kitchen. He hadn't been sure it would work, and it hadn't been... as satisfying as he'd heard these sorts of things were. 

Actually, it had been rather dull. 

Huffing out a breath, he wondered if he could find a good case to entertain him while the obvious grieving process occurred. 

Probably not. With Moriarty gone, things had gotten _so_ dull. Even John's wedding and plotting a murder hadn't occupied enough time for him. He considered shouting for tea, but that would interrupt his dark little corner of the world aesthetic. 

He could plan more murders, but given how dull this one had been, it didn't seem all that interesting. Besides, Mary might have something to say about it should he succeed with poison. And Lestrade was usually good for sixes and sevens, which he somewhat appreciated. And murdering his brother would probably cause chaos in the government. While that might be entertaining on one level, it would cause dull things like the collapse of infrastructure that kept Sherlock in interesting cases and tea.

Then again, tea would be more interesting than wondering how long he had before someone expected him to be _sympathetic_ over the death of Meat Dagger.

He doubted he could manage that, but then John would say something about him being A Bit Not Good, and Mary would give him one of her knowing looks. And Molly. Well, Molly. 

Molly would find out about Meat Dagger's two girlfriends in Scotland, the money he'd stolen from his dead aunt, and the daughter in Cardiff. 

There'd be tears, and anger. And throwing things, he was sure. 

But eventually, oh eventually, she would put him behind her. She could comfort herself that at least this one hadn't been a mass murderer and insane criminal genius. 

She could only go up from there.


End file.
